The Scars Of War
by Hecoand
Summary: 5 years after the final fight with the adrestian Empire, Cyril is studying in the fully rebuilt professor's academy. As he goes on his routine, old wounds repen for worst...


(Spoilers for Azure Moon and Mercedes's paralogue!)

The flames of war ravishing the contient of Fodlan was finally gone. Despite it being over and dealt with for 2 years, Cyril had a hard time thinking about it. Looking up at the mirror in his room, he gently slid a finger on his forehead, brushing his black hair and the open cut upon it. Gone were the days of slavery in the goneril territory. Vanished were the ardorous labors of war against the empire, now everything was replaced by studies and lectures by the new professors of Garreg Mach monastery, with Hanneman's demise in the war, Manuela refused to come back and teach, now working in the old land of the empire to rebuilt the mittlefrank Opera Company.

While part of this year's blue lions group, Cyril didn't really feel close to any of his classmates. Letting out a soft sigh, he wished familiar faces were present. Thankfully, Seteth and Flayn were all right, but warned that they were going to be gone next year to travel across Fodlan. Archbishop Byleth was a extremely busy person already, working as both the head of the church and the leading force of the officer's academy. Shaking his head, the ex sniper went to go outside, feeling like he could use some fresh air and get some bow practice in. With a quick swipe of his hands along his desk, he grabbed his dorm keys and exited his room, making sure to close it with a double turn of the keys. Wearing the iconic uniform of the academy, Cyril made his way to the practice ground, trying to suppress his urge to clean up the accumulated dust on the stairs.

Once upon the large double doors, the bowman pushed them open with a soft groan, his shoulder making the bulk of the work to free his way to the grounds where he could hopefully practice in peace and quiet.

Once inside, he looked around for a fitting spot to stand and shoot at. His feet softly walking across the softer training ground ground made next to no noise while his keener vision allowed the young man to see a prefect bullseye to shoot at. He took hold of it and put it back first to a pillar to keep it steady. Walking back a few steps, Cyril grabbed a practice arrow from his quiver and stretched the line of his bow thin, index pouting at where he desired the arrow to go, while aiming a bit more to the right to that it was the arrowhead that was centered, and not his finger. Deep breathing and...

[B] BANG

An surprising explosion came from behind the archer, completely throwing him off as he turned his head from side to side to check where it came from. The heart beat against his chest more and more violent, hurting his ears as blood poured into and through his veins faster and faster, left eye twitching uncontrollably before he hears laughter. "laughter? Who is..?"

The young man turned around to see two of his classmates laughing their asses off. A small magical book at their feet which probably was the source of the bang.

"Dude! You should of seen the panic you were having!" one of them said, yet Cyril was unmoving. Just watching the tiny speck of fire that the book was currently transforming into. Her ears still whistling from the sudden burst. Yet with time, it only grew worst. His eyes still fixed on theses soft flames.

"Enough.. Of that.." The combat instructor came into the scene, the two students gulping as Cyril still looked at the fire, the familiar yet stranger frame of Jeritza completely unfazing the younger archer. Despite barely surviving the war, Jeritza only recently re-entered the academy after years in prison. Only able to do so due to the archbishop's wife promising she would take care of him. For the new students, the tall one armed instructor was enough to shut them up. But the lack of reaction out of Cyril made the second student weirded out, worryingly pushing his hands towards the slightly shaking almyrian.

"Look Cyril it was just a pra-"

The student's hand was swatted away by Cyril, who just was breathing louder and shaking violently. His eyes still watching the flames, even as they lingered out. He didn't hear Jertiza's words about asking him what was wrong, every sound blocked out as they were replaced by screams and cries, orders being shouted and the galloping of armies. His hands twitched violently as he reached for his bow, quickly firing at the students, whom barely jumped out of the way.

The sound of a meteorite and crushed bones rang into Cyril's head, followed by he pained whispers of familiar voices dying out or seeking help. But worst of all, Shamir's voice echoing for him to move out of the way...

"GYYYA! GET OFF ME!"

Cyril yelled as Jertiza ordered the students to get out and go seek out the head nurse, trying to hold down the archer with his only remaining arm, his taller frame allowing him to put him down on the ground. Even still, he received kicks and punches aplenty, enough to be pushed off the raging kid. His breath still uneven and raspy, Cyril took an arrow and almost stabbed the combat instructor in the neck but thankfully, jeritza rolled away and gave cyril a knee strike to the chest. Enough to make him fall to the ground and whimper.

"don't kill me... I don't wanna die.. This is hell... I hate this...GET ME OUT OF HERE!" He screamed his lungs out, too much air going out of him at once as he passed out.

Only sometimes later did Cyril wake up, his head thumping and his stomach feeling like mush. He could barely hear out what was being said, before he heard some sort of gasp and a hand went on his head, and his chin was cupped and turned. His eyes were heavy as he finally managed to open them, seeing a pair of blue eyes and thick blonde eyebrows checking his face out.

"thank the goddess you are unharmed Cyril. Can you speak? I am sorry my brother gave you such a knee strike. But I believe his judgement that it was necessary." The head nurse spoke kindly and motherly, smiling upon seeing no external injuries. Petting his hair, she stopped leaning forward and grabbed a glass of water and sat down on the stool next to Cyril, her black hat sat prettily on her head, the veil softly flowing down her back.

"M.. Merc.. Merkaydes..."

Cyril attempted to say her name, blushing as he was unable to do so. This caused the older woman to giggle softly, putting a caring hand upon his head and patted it.

"We agreed on Mercie. So don't worry. We are friends are we?"

The young archer looked into her eyes and face, seeing nothing but pure kindness upon it. His eyes started to water as such imagery reminded him of someone else, but his tears didn't last as Mercedes softly caressed his cheeks to make them go away, softly brushing his forehead scar as well.

"I know you miss Lady Rhea terribly Cyril. Some of us really do. But you promised her to be a star student yes? I am proud you became so strong and adaptable Cyril."

Mercedes smiled and closed her eyes, her earrings slightly shaking back and forth from her head movement. Taking back control of his emotions, Cyril groaned and shook his head.

"W... What happened...? I remember hearing a explosion and then blacking out."

The young archer looked at the nurse for clearance, and she sighed while putting her hand upon her lap to get up, preferring to sit on the bed to explain what had happened.

"You... You panicked. The mental scars of war you had buried reopened themselves upon hearing the bang caused by the sizzle tome. Seteth is working on banning them from the monastery."

Cyril frowned, and opened his mouth to protest. After all, tomes shouldn't be banned just for him. It felt like bias to him, but he didn't even had time to utter his first word that Mercedes put her finger upon his lips.

"It was under the orders of my beloved. The Archbishop. So you don't have to worry. We truly should of done this a long time ago. It's... Dangerous to leave items that can cause such panic attacks to occur. Your comrades were lucky that my brother was able to stop you. I am sorry Cyril for not taking your condition more seriously. We shouldn't of brought such a sweet child like you on the battlefield. You probably are scarred forever now, reflexes built for survival... But we will make it out duty to make you fit in. You suffered enough..."

Cyril was at a loss for words upon hearing the sweet tone of Mercedes talk about the war long gone. His hands shook as his body starts to understand the weight of her words, and how his life and mannerism were broken by the ravage of the war that had occurred. For him, orders was absolute. Suggestions weren't a thing. Dining had to be fast, and trust not something to give out like flowers. Yet for now, he felt like a child. He wanted to feel like a child, his eyes started to sting again, soft tears flowing down his cheeks as Mercedes softly wrapped her arms around his head, putting his head upon her chest as he held onto her dress tightly from the back.

He was having a breakdown like a child, but feeling Mercedes's hand caress his hair, and her whispering words of comfort helped in accepting his scars. They were never going to fully heal, but he knew at least that he had friends that could help him mend them. Friends to rely on and divide work to. Theses mental scars were heavy on his heart, but he felt more human and alive than ever before. And he was glad for that, if nothing else.


End file.
